


carve your name into my bedpost, cause i don't want you like a best friend

by enjcltaire



Category: The Thick of It (TV)
Genre: Boyfriends, Domestic Moments, Implied Sexual Content, Kissing, M/M, Making Out, Neck Kissing, Sharing a Bed, Swearing, but no sex, it's really what it says on the tin, it's sexy though, liberal use of the f word, sex references, they are so gay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-18
Updated: 2021-01-18
Packaged: 2021-03-16 18:20:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28835502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/enjcltaire/pseuds/enjcltaire
Summary: Fergus has to make a speech in Scotland. Adam comes with him. Someone at DoSAC booked the wrong room.aka, the Adam and Fergus there was only one bed fic.
Relationships: Adam Kenyon/Fergus Williams
Comments: 12
Kudos: 49





	carve your name into my bedpost, cause i don't want you like a best friend

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first A/F fic but I am so ridiculously deep into the fandom that I'm surprised it's taken me this long. Twitter really wanted this so I hope it's okay and thank you to the group chat for providing me with a plot. I have 0 brain cells. Title is from Dress by Taylor Swift. Katie x

It was October. It was fucking cold, and it was too early, and Fergus Williams did not want to be in Scotland.

He looked up from his phone, which he had been staring at blankly for the last five and a half hours in a feeble attempt to avoid conversation with his special advisor at this hour of the morning, who was sitting across the otherwise empty table from him, seemingly doing exactly the same. Fergus rarely allowed himself more than a second to look at Adam, because he had found that it normally resulted in him still awake in the middle of the night, usually panicking over the mental image of the stupidly attractive face he’d been trying to ignore for the best part of the day. Now, though, he couldn’t help but let his gaze drift towards Adam, who conveniently looked suitably engrossed in whatever the fuck he was reading. Probably some email from someone at DoSAC warning him that he had a moral obligation to make sure there was no way in hell that Fergus could fuck this up, and with their track record that was pretty likely.

Adam glanced up at him with a distinctly pissed off expression on his face. “Do you mind not fucking staring at me like that when I’m trying to make sure we’re not going to fall headlong into complete disaster today?” He squinted at him as though he’d either just woken up with a hangover, or was just really fucking shocked at Fergus’ lack of inability to tear his eyes off the man once he started looking. Possibly both. “Jesus Christ, you could try looking a bit more switched on. You’ve got a speech to make, or did you forget there’s going to be press all over the fucking place listening to every word coming out of your mouth who aren’t going to be particularly impressed if you stand there looking like you were wheeled out of a cryogenic chamber especially for the occasion?”

It was too early for this.

“Alright, alright,” Fergus conceded. “Sorry. It’s not my fault some dickhead decided we needed to go all the way to fucking Scotland on a train at five o’clock in the fucking morning to do a fucking speech to a bunch of fucking Tories,” he snapped in a pathetic attempt to distract Adam from the fact that he had indeed been staring for too long a period of time to be considered friendly.

The other man rolled his eyes. “Remind me to never speak to you until at least 9 o’clock, Jesus,” he said with a smirk, leaning over the table to run his fingers through Fergus’ hair – a gesture that although not in any way abnormal for the two of them, never failed to inspire the slightest of pink tinges that spread quickly up Fergus’ cheeks. 

“Have you ever heard of a fucking hairbrush?” Adam asked, abandoning the MP’s hair as a lost cause and idly flicking at a speck of fluff on his shoulder. “It’s a miracle you even manage to get to work on time dressed properly.”

Fergus laughed slightly and briefly glanced around slightly self-consciously. The train was empty, given that clearly nobody else had been insane enough to entertain a 6 hour train journey before the sun was even properly up, and he was distinctly grateful for it. At DoSAC their behaviour was almost okay: it was normal for the two of them, nobody batted an eyelid anymore, except the odd thinly veiled vaguely homophobic insult from Mannion that both of them had quickly learned to ignore in favour of a middle finger and fucking off to Fergus’ office to complain about everyone in the entire department. In public it was something else. In public, it would have Fergus thinking there was more to it than there really was.

As things were, it was fine. It was just Adam.

Fergus swallowed, a blush on his face, and they returned to comfortable silence.

*

Adam looked like he was about to murder the receptionist at the shitty hotel. “Are you fucking- are you fucking serious?” he yelped, his face flushed with, Fergus assumed, frustration, and nothing more significant.

“Adam,” he murmured, touching the other man’s shoulder gently. “Adam.” The special advisor turned to him, breathless, a slightly deranged look in his eyes. “What?”

“Just…it’s fine. It’s fine,” Fergus replied quietly, desperate to prevent any complete catastrophes before midday, before looking at the receptionist with the most genuine smile he could muster despite the less than ideal circumstances. “Is it possible that we could switch rooms? Someone at the office must have made a mistake when they made the booking,” he said whilst intently trying to stop Adam from flying off the handle, his hand gripping his wrist with what he hoped was a reassuring squeeze.

“Sorry, it’s a busy period. October breaks and all that,” the receptionist told Fergus with an infuriatingly polite tone.

Realising that Adam was literally about to explode and remove the woman’s head from her body, Fergus nodded, said “It’s fine, thank you,” and dragged the man off before he released a tirade of swear words in front of half of the population of Edinburgh.

The room was shit, made shittier by the fact that one of the absolute fucking imbeciles at DoSAC had booked a room with one bed. As soon as the door was shut behind them, Adam threw his suitcase halfway across the room and began to gesture vaguely with his hands. “What the fuck is wrong with them? Who the fuck is fucking stupid enough to…to book a room with one bed for two people-”

“I know,” Fergus said, sitting down on the edge of the bed with his head in his hands. “I know, Adam, but there’s nothing we can fucking do so we’re going to have to just get on with it, aren’t we?” Running his hands through his hair, Fergus groaned, wanting nothing more in that moment than to pretend he didn’t have a speech to make and go to the pub to drink himself to death.

This was not ideal. This was not good.

He took a deep breath. It was fine. It would have to be fine. He had a speech to make.

In the meantime, Adam had calmed down considerably and was rifling through his suitcase (the contents of which now probably looked like they’d been thrown out of a plane given the outpouring of anger they’d endured) in search of his laptop, which he shoved a memory stick into and started clicking wildly, bringing up the list of policies Fergus needed to outline in his speech, “Jesus Christ, Fergus,” he muttered, more to himself than the other man, gesturing to him to come over. He was in work mode and Fergus had to be too. They could deal with this later.

“Yeah,” Fergus responded breathlessly, leaning over Adam’s shoulder and looking at the screen, eyes glazed over and taking absolutely nothing in, his mind racing a million miles a minute. “Yeah, it’s fine. It’s fine, Adam, we’ve got it sorted.”

Adam looked back at him silently, their faces inches apart, maybe even the closest they’d ever been, and Fergus could have cried when he nodded and said “Let’s fucking go then.”

*

It had gone reasonably well. Well enough that they’d ended up in the pub with Adam completely shitfaced talking nonsense and Fergus sitting opposite him awkwardly clutching a J2O, although that probably would have happened anyway. Looking at Adam with his tie loosened, jacket off and shirt sleeves rolled up to the elbow, he really fucking wished he’d ordered a beer.

Fergus didn’t even know what Adam was talking about, just knew that his words were slurred round the edges and his eyes had that wild quality that they always had but multiplied by a thousand, and he couldn’t stop staring. Somewhere in the back of his mind he knew he should detach, make friendly banter about some woman at the bar, because when they got back to the shitty hotel with its shitty room and one shitty bed, Adam would be too far gone to be sensible about it and Fergus would never be able to erase that image from his mind, wouldn’t be able to stop thinking about it every morning when he got to work and his special advisor started touching him and his hair and fixing his tie.

Fuck. Fuck. Fergus was too sober and Adam was utterly wasted.

It was somewhere near midnight when they stumbled down the corridor to their hotel room (or rather Adam stumbled and Fergus stumbled along with him as he tried to keep him upright) and paused outside the door as Adam fumbled in his pockets for the key card, swearing and collapsing back against the wall with a laugh, not breaking eye contact with Fergus for a second.

“Where’s the fucking key card?” Fergus asked him, laughing too and he didn’t even know why. He felt drunk as Adam finally retrieved the key card from his back pocket, their arms touching as they opened the door, falling into the room.

A silence stretched out between them as Adam lurched forward, incapable of standing upright and tripping over his own feet, seemingly unbothered by the singular bed staring Fergus right in the face as he stood in the doorway, unsure.

“What are you doing Ferg?” Adam slurred as he kicked off his shoes and abandoned his jacket on the floor. Fergus looked back, meeting his gaze uneasily, shrugging off his own jacket slowly and awkwardly laying it over the chair. “Ferg,” Adam said, wandering forwards in a scarily casual manner, grabbing at the MP’s tie to take it off, an action so familiar yet so alien while Fergus’ heart was beating so fast, looking at the other man incapable of finding the right words. “Ferg, what time’s the train in the morning?” he asked, throwing Fergus’ tie down with his own and fiddling with the buttons of his shirt.

“Too early,” he responded, leaning down to unfasten his shoes as inconspicuously as their proximity would allow. Adam shrugged, tugging at the sheets on the bed and laying down half dressed, his shirt unfastened and belt deserted in his drunken stupor somewhere on the floor. “Sleep,” he muttered, “get fucking on with it, Ferg.”

Fergus nodded, breathing heavily and turning away insecurely as he changed his clothes, reassuring himself with the knowledge that Adam was absolutely too drunk to be paying any attention. Gingerly he pulled back the covers and laid next to Adam, eyes fixated on the ceiling as he tried to steady his breathing. The heat of the man who was somehow closer than he had anticipated made him feel like he was next to the sun, and he couldn’t shake the unsettling tipsy feeling that had taken hold of his entire body despite him not having consumed any alcohol.

He turned over, his back to Adam, with a distinct sense that he was being stared at – or maybe that was just his paranoia. Fergus hesitantly pulled the covers around him, desperately attempting to settle his mind, which at present felt something like the inside of a pinball machine. He had just closed his eyes when he heard a murmur from the other side of the bed.

“Dickhead,” Adam grumbled, tugging at the sheets, and if Fergus hadn’t been so fucking nervous he would have laughed. “What?” he asked in a tone a little too genuine given the other man’s current complete inability to say anything remotely sensible.

“Must be fucking awful being married to you,” the special advisor continued, shifting around awkwardly as he stole back the duvet, not altogether unlike an irritated child.

“Thanks a bunch, mate,” Fergus replied, all too aware that Adam was now mere inches away and as much as a hand movement could have them touching, and then…shit, then Fergus would decidedly never recover.

There was a silence as Adam continued his incessant fidgeting before he eventually settled in a position that could in no way, on no planet, in no fucking galaxy even, be considered a platonic position for two friends who’ve been forced to share a bed for the night to be sleeping in.

Fergus swore his heart stopped for a moment. He stared at the dim light of the wall in front of him and tried to think about anything other than the heat of Adam’s breath on his neck, the slight smell of alcohol and the remnants of that aftershave he always wears that Fergus has been trying to pretend doesn’t drive him up the fucking wall for the last three years, and the feeling of his special advisor, his special fucking advisor, pressed up against him with their legs tangled together like they were boyfriends.

He’s drunk, Fergus, he’s just drunk, he doesn’t know what he’s doing. He’s an arsehole when he’s drunk. He won’t remember this in the morning.

“They all think we’re together,” Adam’s voice sounded low in his ear, his words still a little slurred and he was definitely not conscious enough for them to be having this conversation.

“Go to sleep, Adam,” Fergus muttered, willing him to fuck off back to the other side of the bed and leave him to try and recover whatever was left of the part of his brain that had been pretending he wasn’t completely in love with Adam Kenyon. “You’re drunk.”

“Mmm,” Adam replied, his face pressing into the crook of Fergus’ neck and ever so casually run a hand up Fergus’ side, settling as he held him close. “They think we’re fucking each other, Ferg.” He paused. “Everyone does.”

Fergus didn’t dare move, speak, or even breathe properly for fear of…what? Ruining something? An invisible line had already been crossed – crossed in everyone else’s minds God knows how long ago, when they first started working together and the whole of DoSAC realised that Adam was the only person who was capable of calming Fergus down whenever he was faced with yet another political disaster. Adam was right, he knew that. He knew exactly what it looked like.

“I know,” Fergus said quietly. “I know.”

“Do you ever wonder why?” Adam was barely awake, his voice tailing off as he idly stroked across Fergus’ arms and stomach and chest.

He doesn’t know what he’s doing.

“I think you know the answer to that,” Fergus returned.

There was no reply. He closed his eyes and tried to ignore the heat in the pit of his stomach as Adam’s lips brushed softly against his neck, and pretended that when he woke up, everything would be just as it always was.

Maybe it would be, for Adam.

Fergus would never be able to forget it.

*

When Fergus woke up, neither of them had moved an inch. For a moment he could almost imagine this was some sort of domestic bliss and they were really just waking up in each other’s arms on an ordinary morning, before Adam started ordering him to make them both a coffee.

The clothes abandoned on the floor that Fergus could just about see in the dim light reminded him otherwise.

Neither of them set an alarm last night and Fergus’ brain can’t help but go into panic mode at the thought of missing their train, but the feeling of their bodies still pressed together like that made any pissed off emails from DoSAC seem completely irrelevant.

He didn’t know when Adam woke up. Just knew that he shifted even closer still, reached out and gently ran a hand through Fergus’ hair. It’s not unnatural in the slightest, yet somehow it felt so different. He knew it was different when he started to press soft kisses to Fergus’ neck, and fuck, he was definitely awake, and when Fergus let out a desperate noise they both knew there was absolutely no going back.

Adam didn’t stop, though, not like Fergus thought he might. Instead he leaned forward, kissing with more fervour as he gently slid a hand up Fergus’ shirt. He couldn’t even manage to move, push Adam’s hand away out of pure insecurity, because then he’s turning over and Adam is kissing him, his other hand on the back of Fergus’ head, and it’s completely fucking perfect despite the fact that somewhere in Fergus’ mind he’s aware that they’ve potentially just ruined both of their careers completely, but it’s fine, because Adam is kissing him and Adam has his hands all over him and Adam, fucking Adam is moaning into his mouth and grinding against him like there’s no tomorrow.

Politics, Fergus thought for a brief moment before pushing the shirt Adam failed to properly take off last night off his shoulders, fuck politics.

*

“What are you going to tell them?” Adam asked when they collapsed into their seats on a later train, having decidedly missed the one they were booked on in favour of more…preferable pursuits.

Fergus shrugged, brushing at his jacket slightly nervously. “Fuck knows. Everyone knows the Scottish are incompetent, their trains are probably just as bad.”

Adam laughed, leaning forward to fix his boss’ tie and glancing at the suspicious looking bruise that’s definitely not appropriately covered by the top of Fergus’ shirt collar. “Careful, dickhead. Anyone would think we’re shagging.”

“What, like they wouldn’t believe I just hooked up with some woman I found in a bar after I impressed everyone with my incredible political skills?”

The special advisor smirked. “Yeah, good try, Ferg. Kiss me.”

“Fuck off, mate,” Fergus said, “or should I say, boyfriend.”

“I like the sound of that,” Adam murmured, pressing a quick kiss to Fergus’ lips. “Boyfriend.”

Fergus smiled, looking out of the window for a second. He could get used to this.


End file.
